


Practice

by rainebird



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And Keith is working so hard, But neither of them recognize each other, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Keith and Lance were friends before he moved away at 5 yo, Keith's father isolated him from anything arcane to keep his powers at bay, Lance is so supportive, M/M, Magic, Pining, So he wouldn't die like his mother did, This is basically just me writing out a future scene, Witch AU, Witch Keith (Voltron), Witch Lance (Voltron), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 14:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainebird/pseuds/rainebird
Summary: A self-indulgent fluffy drabble based on an rp that is very loosely based on _kiilea (IG) and bleusarcelle (IG)'s popular Klance WitchAU.Keith is discovering his deeply hidden arcane gifts, and is working to build them up with the help of the mysterious local witch.





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extension of an rp I'm currently working on with a friend, and ended up being loosely based on Kiilea and Bleu's WitchAU, which I adore. But, mainly, this is all from within mine and my partner's mind!  
Let me know what you think! Any words are encouraged and welcome. <3

It was a late evening. The sun had already retired, the moon having already taken it's place in the sky. Rain poured from the dark storm clouds, soaking the cobblestone streets outside, giving the foliage that surrounded the entire city life, pattering against the wood-shingled roof of the modest witch shop. 

The sound echoed throughout the store below, mingling among the vast amount of jars and vials on display. Several of the containers held specimens of many different varieties; flowers, rocks, mud, bugs, even small lizards that had been dried out for use in alchemical potions. The entire shop was dark, save for the few flits of lamplight that came in from the outside and the gentle candlelight that cascaded down from the lofted living space that sat above the shop, casting ominous shadows along the floor and against the walls.

The loft that existed on the second level of the small building was quaint and simple, yet large enough for Lance and Blue to live comfortably together, perched above like crows overlooking a field-- safe and isolated. It was about half the size of the shop below, nestled against the back side of the building, having one large window against that very wall. The storm outside pelted rain against the window, leaving streams of tear-like water scurrying down it's outside surface. The occasional bolt of lightning lit the entire area, casting more shadows against the antique furniture, simultaneously illuminating the two faces of the men who rested there. 

There, upon the bed (or, rather, nest), sat two figures, cross-legged across from one another, both focusing intently on the body opposite them. One was demonstrating, among the piles of plush blankets and pillows they sat with, holding his hands between them. Bright, light blue light emanated from his fingertips, the freckles on his hands and face glowing the same exact color. 

The light flowed like wisps of smoke from the tips of his fingers, flowing out towards the other man, reaching out with it's calming essence. The trails of light circled around the man with the midnight hair, teasing around him, caressing his skin with intangible touches, graced over his own outstretched hands, snaking it's way around and up to tousle the edges and ends of his long hair, pulling a soft giggle out of him. It was magical, soft, and felt so safe and pure. The wisps, along with the faint light radiating from the other boy's freckles, cast a subdued glow upon the angles and curves of the raven-haired boy’s face, softening the contrast between his dark hair and pale complexion.

A soft chuckle escaped the freckled boy as he watched, admiring the man in front of him, the natural beauty and affinity he had about him, how eager he was to watch and experience his magic, to learn and, perhaps, tap into his own. He turned his hands, palms upwards towards the ceiling, offering them to the other, along with a warm smile of reassurance. They had been practicing for only a few weeks, but he had noticed that, if their hands were close, if his own magic was present and open and accepting, Keith was able to call forth tiny trickles of his own, dark pink against his soft, luminescent skin. 

With Keith's hands hovering just above his own, their palms facing each other, tendrils of light blue smoke twisting between their fingers, almost trying to bring them together, to intertwine, tiny,  _ tiny _ murmurs of pink began to expel from his hands. His dark indigo eyes were closed tight, eyebrows furrowed together in the middle, focused, lips parted as he sought the glimmer of arcane essence deep within himself. It started in the center of his palm, hesitant, looming, then slowly shifted outwards, towards his fingers, until it reached the tips, mingling with Lance's magic fog, twisting into a brilliant shade of violet.

As he watched, Lance could easily see the shift in Keith's expression, evolving from one of raw focus and determination to one of relaxation and pride as he felt the inner workings of his magic release and flow easily through his whole body. His light was nowhere near as bright as Lance's, but it was there, glowing starkly between them. His eyes opened with a flutter of his thick, black eyelashes, his dark irises now glowing a prominent and bold shade of magenta, tears flooding in as he made solid eye contact with Lance. 

The tears were not due to one particular emotion, of course, but, rather, a whirlwind of several that he was feeling all at once, overwhelming his senses as he tried to make sense of them-- pride, admiration, joy, pure ecstasy, the feeling of a lack of stability within himself. The mass of emotion had always been tsunami like, overtaking control of his tear ducts and his ability to hold back any sound escaping his lips in those moments. 

Since they had started practicing, Keith had had a variety of side effects from his efforts to bring forth his arcane abilities-- abilities that had been, essentially, hidden from him his entire life by his father. He sheltered Keith, not due to fear of the magic itself, but out of fear that his son would lose himself and perish, just as the boy's mother had when he was so young. The effects ranged anywhere from tears to ecstatic giggles to uncontrollable sobs, wracking his whole body, forcing them to pause their practice until the feelings passed just enough for him to regain his composure. 

Through it all, he had never felt sad, which was the main reason the sobs confused Keith so-- why was he so physically mournful if all he felt in his chest was warmth and happiness upon seeing and feeling his power? Lance had been kind, reassuring, telling him that he, too, had gone through wild rushes of states of being when he began his training, back when he was a child.  _ 'It will pass with practice. Do not let these feelings linger, don't cling to them. Acknowledge them, respect them, and let them pass. Otherwise, the connection you have within you will become blocked, and finding access to your gift will become even more of a struggle. Fight it too much and you may close it off completely.'  _

This time, however, was much calmer than the fits of tears and shrieks Keith had dealt with the instances before. This time, only the tears escaped his eyes, falling down his cheeks much like the rain cascaded down the glass of the window. Neither of them made any move to wipe the salt water away, allowing their connections with themselves and each other continue. Swirls of purple fog surrounded them as Keith's light grew brighter, his own smoke thickening, mixing with Lance's. 

The tendrils fell off the bed to swirl onto the floor, spinning and whirling about. Lance's blue took the shape of an astral doe, not very large, glowing and flickering like the stars they knew to be high above them in the sky. Keith's magenta struggled, building up into a mass on the floor near the doe, only to fall down a few times into a puddle of vapor, a look of mild frustration flitting against the man's face as he stared into Lance's glowing blue eyes. He hunkered down his mental focus as he willed the mass of smoke, slowly, to resemble a stoic wolf, nearly the same size as the doe, twice in mass, but half it's height.

Lance grinned across from him, not needing to look to know that Keith had managed to manifest a creature, transform the gentle smoke into a shape of his choosing. "A wolf, huh?" he asked softly, still not needing to look down at the floor to know.

A shy smile crossed Keith's face as he nodded in response, his glowing eyes flashing once, only minutely. "I like to think I was a wolf in a past life," he murmured, taking a slow, deep breath that visibly puffed out his chest under his black sweater. Out of his peripherals, he could almost see the shapes of the canine and the cervinae dancing around one another, flitting about around the wooden floor of the loft.

Along with the bed, the only furniture Lance kept in his possession were an old, standing, chestnut wardrobe that donned a beautiful silver mirror on the backside of one of it's doors, it's design ornate and intricate against the rich brown of the wood; a small wood stove that sat with a visible squat upon a slab of stone in the corner, currently smoldering away at it's last few pieces of charcoal within, radiating it's heat out to the room and to the pot of tea that sat atop it; a plush imported rug that sat in the middle of the room, currently cradling a sleeping Blue among it's tassels, it's hues of deep red and brown adding to the overall coziness of the living space; and, finally, a set of cabinets against the far wall opposite the bed, stocked with a mixture of food items and magical ingredients and baubles that he didn't want to have mixed up with the store's wares.

The only light in the room, aside from the enigmatic creatures dancing around the room, came from the stove and the few candles lit around the space, mainly clustered around the bed. The lowlight gave the area a subtle, romantic, mysterious vibe, kept the aura calm and relaxed so Keith could focus with little to no distraction.

Their teacups sat, empty and forgotten, on the tiny step stool that sat beside Lance's bed; one an embellished dark blue, covered in tiny flowers and vines, the other a simple crimson, edged with brilliant details of gold. While on a trip to find a type of rare crystal he wanted to harvest for his shop's stock, Lance went out of his way to hunt down the perfect teacup. Tea had been something that he and Keith had bonded over, much to both of their surprise-- a rather random and unexpected passion for the two to share.

He traveled to a distant town, not far from the mine he had harvested the crystal from, to visit the local pottery master in order to hunt down a cup that he wanted to gift to Keith-- a cup for him to leave in Lance's home for when he visited, a cup to suit him and his tastes, so he might feel even more at home around the loft, around Blue, around  _ him _ .

That day, he settled on the red one, after much contemplation between that and another pitch black cup with similar detail work in silver, rather than gold. The other man wore so much black that Lance was sure he would enjoy a bit of color in his life. When he gifted the teacup to Keith, the day had been a rough one, mainly for the witch. It had been a full moon, which meant a busy day for the shop, and another witching hour that he needed to spend working on his own enchantments. 

Around 4:30 in the morning, after Lance was exhausted and ready for bed, his late night tasks finally complete, with the frost from the night air having already created intricate patterns along the glass of all his windows, Keith had come by. He had begun to make a habit of visiting Lance after the witching hour on full moon nights, always armed with some sort of comfort food, or a gift for him. All for him. 

The raven-haired man always looked like an absolute dream, a figment of ethereal beauty and charm, his cheeks and nose pink from the harsh winter air, wrapped up in his favorite dark brown cloak, bundled up warm. Sometimes he would bring soup or stew, freshly roasted meat, maybe hot cider or Lance's favorite tea. 

One item that Keith always managed to bring those nights, no matter what he brought for the witch, was a treat for Blue. Often, it was a small amount of cooked fish that he bought fresh from the fisherman than day, or, perhaps, warm cream that he brought from home, poured into a tiny saucer for her once he and the brunette migrated up the steep stairs in the back of the shop up to the loft. 

That night, Keith brought a heavy bowl of stew for them to share together, along with some bread and a tiny package of fish for Blue, who graciously rubbed against the man's leg as he dished it up for her up on the loft. That night, Lance handed him a small, delicate parcel wrapped in soft tissue paper, a small thing, yet a meaningful one. That night, they drank two pots of tea together, telling stories back and forth, sharing intimate details about their past, growing closer to one another, cuddling on the soft bed with Blue once she had finished her treat. 

Keith had grown so fond of Lance's familiar, so much so that it warmed his heart when she would abandon Lance's company for his as soon as he entered the shop, or when she would eagerly run up to him and hop up onto his shoulder upon spotting him on the street. As much as he complained about that fact, a dramatic fuss of losing his cat to Keith, Lance loved it. 

If there had been even a sliver of doubt within him that thought Keith might be too good to be true, might have some ulterior motive or might not be what he seemed-- once he could feel that Blue trusted Keith, once Lance could feel the certainty radiating from her through their bond, he knew. He wanted Keith around, wanted to connect with this person who felt so mysterious to him, wanted to know him. Fully. The fact that Keith  _ didn't  _ have arcane powers had come as a complete shock to the witch, made no sense to him based solely on the fact that he could  _ feel _ an arcane aura around him, could sense it. Yet, nothing had appeared to prove otherwise. 

That is, until they discovered Keith's gift by complete accident. 

As Keith's energy began to dwindle, quite a while into their practice, his eyes blinked much more frequently, his eyebrows tilted upwards as he grew tired and weary, the conjuration of his wolf draining his mental and spiritual vigor. Immediately sensing it, Lance smiled and lifted his hands up a few centimeters until his palms met the other's, his fingers grazing against Keith's smooth wrists, holding him steady. 

"Now, just as we practiced, let's let go. Don't cut it off right away, but pull back from it. Nice and slow," he instructed, giving the other man an encouraging nod, both of their eyes glowing brilliantly still. Upon being held, though, Keith's resolve slowly dissipated, a gentle  _ 'right _ ' escaping his lips as he leaned into his hands a bit, using what avidity he had left to withdraw from that place deep within himself, to come back to where he and Lance were sitting, back to the present. 

As soon as the wolf faded away, the smoke between them cleared, Lance's own dissipating in a much more practiced way, quick and clean. As their eyes returned to their usual hues, blue and even darker blue, a heavy sigh forced it's way out of Keith's body, the exhale easing his shoulders into a slouch and his eyelids shut. Exhausted. He had never lasted so long during a practice session in the few weeks they had been working together-- almost 30 minutes worth of focus and patience. The mental stamina he had built up over those weeks truly showed, and Lance's quiet murmurs of praise and comfort that basked between them only filled Keith with more pride. 

"I-....I really did okay?" he asked weakly, mustering all the energy he had to lift his chin back up to meet Lance's gaze with his own sleepy eyes. "I held it for so long," he added, a languid smile on his face. 

Keith felt a deep hum radiate from his chest as Lance interlaced their fingers, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, his eyes kind as he nodded. "You did brilliant," he whispered, the glow from his freckles finally fading away, leaving normal speckles against his tan skin. "You have made so much progress, I knew you’d do well the moment I sensed this smoldering magic within you..." he paused, reaching one of his hands up to tuck a stray piece of hair that had fallen out of Keith's ribbon behind his ear. 

"I am blown away by you. Every day and in every possible way," he said, his thumb leaving behind a gentle caress on Keith's jaw as it fell back down into their laps. "But, now, you should rest. Blue is already asleep, just like we should be," he chuckled, looking over to the snoozing grey cat, stretched out on the luscious rug by the stove. 

With a hum, a shuffle, and a wave of Lance's hand, the two curled up among the cascading fort of pillows together and held each other close as the light from the candles extinguished-- leaving the room in total darkness aside from the dull blaze from the stove, the distant shine of the streetlamps, and the occasional flash of lightning-- simultaneously illuminating the faces of the two men who rested there. 


End file.
